


the best of me (of us)

by Starrie_Wolf



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Don't copy to another site, M/M, Soul Bond, Soulmates share a talent; soulbonding makes it better
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-26
Updated: 2019-07-26
Packaged: 2020-07-20 09:04:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19989577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starrie_Wolf/pseuds/Starrie_Wolf
Summary: Ed has never questioned why alchemy comes so easily to him, easier than even Al has ever found it, like he's already spent a lifetime studying alchemy.Roy has never questioned why his alchemy is still growing in leaps and bounds, long after he's settled into a comfortable niche, why he can keep up with the thought process of a genius even for something that's completely outside his field.





	the best of me (of us)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [minium](https://archiveofourown.org/users/minium/gifts).



Hohenheim has always called him an alchemy prodigy.

Ed has never questioned the assertion.

At first it was because he was too young to really understand, more interested in the way his pencil flies over the paper, gripping it in the palm of his chubby little fist so that he can sketch the bold curves of the Tree of Life without making a mistake. It’s like he’s done this a thousand times instead of just twice, like he’s been studying alchemy his whole life instead of barely a week, like he doesn’t already have an entire sketchbook covered with the salamander, over and over again, each little flick of the tail giving him a deep-seated _satisfaction_.

And then, later… he’s too heartsick, too broken to _care_.

His finger shakes as he paints out the eight-pointed star of the soul-binding rune, ending with the little curl, that same little twist of his wrist he uses for the salamander, and fights not to throw up as the world fizzles away into white once again.

A limb for his brother.

It’s not an equivalent exchange, not at all, but Ed’s starting to realise nothing that ever matters _is_.

Alchemy, like any other learned skill, plateaus after a while, when the alchemist finds a niche and settles in it like a grumpy dragon in its nest.

Certainly, Roy has not expected to be any different, has thrown his life and his soul into the study of flame alchemy and never looked back, even on the darkest nights when he wonders if he should have –

He doesn’t think about it.

They call him the Flame Alchemist. Roy likes to think he’s a little different from most run-of-the-mill alchemists, that he’s a fair hand at the more basic applications of alchemy, even if most of his non-flame-based transmutations are more useful as parlour tricks or shortcuts of convenience. It _is_ incredibly handy to have a ready supply of ice cubes in summer, even if his team has to drag buckets of water into the office first.

Then he meets Edward Elric.

If Roy’s an expert at alchemy, then Edward can’t be called anything but a _genius_ , chemical equations flitting through his mind so fast that he doesn’t even need to write them down first, his focus so absolute that he can just put his hands together and create what it takes an entire team of alchemists _weeks_ to design.

He should’ve been called the _Magician Alchemist_ , Roy sometimes thinks.

His career hasn’t been what could’ve been termed _sedate_ , with the planned coup and all in the works, but Edward blasts into his life like a hurricane, leaving behind a barrage of partially-filled reports, complaint letters, damage claims, and assorted detritus. So Roy thinks he can be forgiven for not noticing, until they’re chasing down a rogue alchemist two years in and Edward has barely clapped him in chains (literally, of course, because heavens forbid Edward Elric ever do something as mundane as _carry around items_ when he can just transmute them from his surroundings) before he’s stepping over to examine the alchemist’s work in the corner.

Roy circles around to join him, and together they pore over the circles.

“The bottom circle’s not balanced,” Edward says, after a minute. “He should have used antimony to anchor it, not mercury.”

“But he needs a balance for the sulphur on top,” Roy points out.

Edward turns his head to look at him like he’s observing a new species of beetle.

“Hmm,” he says, flipping a piece of chalk through his fingers. Then he bends over, scribbles for thirty seconds, and touches his hands to the circle.

The rogue alchemist shrieks through his gag, high-pitched and furious, when the circle he’s spent the last thirty years designing activates.

Roy’s just pleased to note that Edward kept the mercury where it was.

It hits him suddenly, then, that he’s easily following along with another alchemist’s life’s work as though he’s spent a significant amount of time studying it, although Roy can say for certain that he’s never had cause to contemplate transmutation equations for horticulture before. He should’ve been hopelessly lost, but no, he _gets_ the gist of it, the sequence of symbols makes sense to him even though he doubts he can actually rewrite it as effortlessly as Edward could.

Come to think of it, hasn’t he started reading masters’ treatises again?

Roy shakes his head ruefully, stepping over to make sure the rogue alchemist’s properly cuffed. With a natural prodigy like Edward tearing up the place, it only makes sense that his own competitive nature would kick in sooner or later.

If he absolutely has to concur with the Bastard about _one_ thing, Ed grudgingly admits, it would be this:

Fiery explosions are the _best_.

Roy thinks he _gets_ why Edward finds alchemy so easy, now, equations dancing through his mind the moment he thinks about it, and it’s terrifyingly easy to press his palms together, to throw up a solid barrier of pure earth-and-trace-elements like he’s been doing this for the last three years instead of the last three _seconds_.

He turns towards Edward, his presence so _bright_ Roy can find him even without the use of his sight, and he thinks, _oh_.

“ _Brother_ ,” Al complains, when he finds Ed in his study.

Ed looks up, belatedly realising that it’s already dark outside, when he was supposed to meet Al at their favourite restaurant in Central to celebrate his return to Amestris. “Oh, oops.” He didn’t mean to, he swears! It’s just that Al still uses the same alchemy code that Izumi Curtis had taught them, which means Ed can read it like it was written in plain text, and the thread of alkahestry Al’s trying to incorporate into his alchemy circles these days is just so _fascinating_ –

Al leans over to see what Ed’s been scribbling on that spare piece of paper he found, and then throws up his hands in disgust. “Why didn’t I think of this earlier?” he wails, grabbing a fresh piece of paper and recopying the circle that Ed has been doodling. “ _How_ is it that you haven’t used alchemy for two years, but you’re still so good at this?”

 _It’s easy_ , Ed wants to say, but it’s not supposed to be, is it? He presses his palms together, just to test, but there’s no answering spark of energy he can sense. And yet, there’s still this lingering _feeling_ , like he’s never stopped using alchemy, which doesn’t make any sense, unless…

“I’ve got a theory, be right back!”

“Oh boy,” Ed hears Al mutter as he traipses out of the house. “Should I warn the Lieutenant-General about damage control?”

Fortunately or unfortunately, Roy Mustang lives in the same area as Gracia and Elicia, which is also where Al lives. It’s near enough that Ed can cover the distance on foot, but far enough that he starts to have second thoughts about his theory.

It’s true that Roy is the only person Ed’s ever met whose alchemy potential seemed to grow in leaps and bounds every time Ed sees him, but it could be because Roy is both a hard worker and a genius, and not because he could subconsciously tap into Ed’s mastery of the Gate.

There’s only one way to find out.

The door swings open at the second knock. Roy looks – well. There goes any hope that maybe two years of distance would’ve caused this awkward crush of his to fade. Though, if his theory’s correct…

“Give me your hands,” he demands.

Roy smiles, something awkwardly confused rather than his usual polite social smile, and Ed ignores the butterflies fluttering in his belly to grab his hands instead. He could almost hear the heavy thud of a Gate – though surely that must be in his imagination – as he presses Roy’s palms together, calling up the simplest transmutation circle he can think of, and then sets his palms on the wooden door frame –

They both stare that the wooden spear that Roy’s now holding, half of its shaft still embedded in the door frame.

Ed swallows.

He’s thought – he’s never dared to _hope_ –

He misses alchemy like a _limb_ some days, although he doesn’t regret it one bit; he’s even given up a limb for Al’s soul before, so he would never be able to regret sacrificing his alchemy to have Al _back_ , but still…

Roy gently pulls his hands from his slack grip, wrapping his fingers around Ed’s hands.

“Hello, Edward.”

Ed looks up, and manages the ghost of a smile.

“Hey yourself, Bastard Soulmate.”


End file.
